


Baby, You're a Firework

by cmonkatiekatie



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-02
Updated: 2011-03-02
Packaged: 2017-10-17 23:09:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/182316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cmonkatiekatie/pseuds/cmonkatiekatie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>kink meme prompt: Arthur's been struggling against his attraction to Eames because Eames turns him on too much; he comes too soon and it humiliates him. Eames figures it out and teaches him control. I apologize for the hack job on the Queen's English. And let's be honest, also American English.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby, You're a Firework

The first time it happens, Eames is about 30 seconds from coming in his own trousers. They've got 4 years of verbal foreplay between them, the last 24 hours of which were designed to see who would break first. If breaking is coming, then Eames is the clear winner, having held out for, oh, a minute longer than Arthur.

In the face of it, Eames doesn't much care about winning. Watching Arthur suck in huge gulps of air as he comes down with Eames hand still stuffed in his pants is better than outlasting him, Eames thinks. Arthur flushes and looks down, but then he's grinning at Eames and sinking to his knees, so really, there are no losers here.

-

The second time it happens is about 34 minutes after the first time it happens.

They're naked this time, and Eames hovers over Arthur, splayed out below him. Eames is enjoying himself, enjoying the way Arthur's hands grip his ass, the way his own hand fits around Arthur's throat when he dips down to kiss him.

Arthur arches up, his cock sliding up Eames hip. When Arthur's grip tightens, Eames pulls back to watch the way his eyelashes flutter when he closes his eyes. There's that reddening flush again and Arthur gasps as he comes against nothing but the pressure of Eames' body on his.

"Jesus," Eames says. Arthur blinks up at him.

"Fuck, fuck, sorry," he says.

"What?" Eames says stupidly.

He kisses Arthur again, so he won't have to look at the way Arthur's stopped looking at him. Arthur kisses back, shaky and breathless while Eames rolls his hips through the slick mess on Arthur's stomach, then does it again, Arthur's softening cock still trapped between them.

After a few unsteady thrusts Arthur starts to whine, his body shying away, and Eames stops.

Arthur just holds on and tries to press closer. "No, fuck, stay. Please stay, do it. Come on."

It's the noises, Eames will think later, the way Arthur whimpers like it's too much but he wants it anyway. Eames ruts against him, no finesse at all. It's good, really good, but he doesn't think he can come this way, not so soon after spilling into Arthur's mouth and down his chin.

Arthur rolls up into him again and again, all while screwing his face up in a beautiful display of the sweetest agony. Eames can't get enough of just looking at it. Maybe he _can_ come like this.

Arthur's fingers traverse the cleft of his ass, making their way down to rub against him. Eames groans into Arthur's shoulder. "Yes," he says, "like that."

Arthur breathes into his ear, a broken hiccup of a gasp, and that's enough - that's more than enough.

It's fine. Eames is the furthest thing from unsatisfied. Of course he would really like the both of them to hold out long enough that he can get inside Arthur, but he has no real complaints. They can try again in a little while.

-

A little while turns into the morning.

Eames wakes up first. Arthur is filthy; his torso is long and lean and if Eames were to touch it he's sure he'd feel dried come, his hair is matted up by both sweat and leftover product. He looks gorgeous. Eames wants to kiss the soft curve of his lower lip and fuck into him for hours.

Eames is not above prodding Arthur to wake up.

After the third or fourth poke to his chest, Arthur bats his hand away and grumps, "What?"

When he finally looks at Eames, Arthur grins enough to dimple. "Hey."

"Morning. Think I could fuck you?" Eames would like to think they're past needing anything like a line.

Arthur tilts his chin up for a kiss. "I think we could make that happen, yeah."

It's just like it was before. Eames gets close, kneading his fingers into the flesh of Arthur's hip, and Arthur is immediately responsive, so much so that Eames is dizzy with it. Arthur's dripping before Eames even tries to remember where the lube and condoms are, leaving long streaks of precome where his cock drags along Eames' stomach.

And then it's like something clicks in his brain.

Eames pushes Arthur into the mattress. "Let me try something."

"Uh," Arthur says, but Eames is busy slinking downwards. Arthur's cock is flushed and heavy, and Eames wastes a second or two licking the salty taste off the head, but before too long Eames holds on and sinks his mouth over him. He pulls off and looks up at Arthur. Arthur looks back and Eames knows that Arthur knows that Eames knows.

"Fuck," Arthur says. He drops his head back on the pillow.

When Eames takes him back in his mouth Arthur pushes his hips up and Eames lets him. Arthur groans sweet and low and comes down Eames’ throat.

-

Arthur's got his arm thrown over his eyes so Eames can only see the tip of his nose and the firm set of his jaw.

Eames pulls his arm away, but Arthur keeps his eyes shut.

"So you've got a bit of a hair trigger," Eames says, "It's not exactly the end of the world."

"It's not- I'm not actually- I'm almost thirty. Fuck."

Eames leans in to nip at his lips because this is torture to watch. Arthur rolls up to meet him immediately. "You're so needy I-"

Eames is interrupted by Arthur's factory setting ring tone. Arthur sighs and it sounds an awful lot like relief.

Eames rolls on his back and tucks his hands under his head. He's more than willing to wait Arthur out.

It's unfortunate, then, that it's starting to sound like he won't get the chance.

Arthur hangs up and starts gathering his scattered clothes. "I'm going in," he says.

"Alright," Eames says, and gets up to help. He holds out Arthur's shoes and makes him come to him to collect them. He reels Arthur in by the wrist. "Can I make a suggestion?"

Arthur doesn't say yes, but he doesn't say no. Eames kisses him quickly and says, "Shower first," flicking lightly at Arthur's stomach.

It earns him a genuine flash of smile before Eames risks ruining it when he says, "We'll talk about this later."

-

That afternoon Eames corners Arthur in the warehouse, crowds in close, and licks the shell of his ear before biting gently.

Ariadne and Cobb are sprawled in the lawn chairs, likely out for the next fifteen minutes or so, and Yusuf's gone on an errand to procure something chemical with a long name Eames can't be arsed to remember. They've got time. Not that Eames thinks he'll need much.

"Are you this easy for everyone, or is it just me?" Eames asks. It comes out just as hushed as he intended.

Arthur doesn't answer. He exhales and noses down Eames cheek until he finds Eames' mouth instead. Eames gives in and crushes Arthur to the wall, hands at Arthur's sides, at his back, in his hair. At his groin.

Arthur is hard. Eames had his suspicions, but confirmation is still nice.

"You'll come like this, won't you." Eames says. It's not a question. Arthur shudders as Eames rubs his cock through his trousers, palming over the head. He drags his thumb down to trace the outline of his erection and watches Arthur bite his lip. "Show me how you'll come like this."

He can see Arthur fighting to stay quiet. He keeps his mouth pressed tight and breathes through his nose. Arthur pushes his hips into Eames' hand and lets his mouth fall open enough for a soft 'ah' sound to slip out. Eames feels it when Arthur comes. It's fucking fantastic.

Arthur looks wrecked. He looks mussed and drained and enormously satisfied.

"Fuck," Eames says, and crushes his mouth to Arthur's.

-

Arthur comes out of the bathroom fresh as a daisy in Spring.

Eames watches him make his way to one of the desks. There is nothing about him that suggests he was just cleaning come out of his underpants after being palmed in a hallway.

Eames realizes he probably didn't bother cleaning them - taking them off would be a much more efficient way of handling the situation. He loses roughly an hour to thinking about Arthur's bare ass beneath his trousers.

Eames has just settled into a file on the mark's ex-girlfriend when Arthur approaches the table Eames has commandeered for the day.

"Check my math on this?" Arthur says and slides a notebook across the rough grain of the wood.

Eames reads, then he chews on his pen to cover the way he smiles down at the note.

'IF THAT IS YOUR IDEA OF TALKING ABOUT THIS WE NEED TO HAVE A SERIOUS DISCUSSION ABOUT WHAT TALKING ACTUALLY MEANS'

Arthur, inexplicably, has the penmanship of an architect. Eames has always liked it.

Eames holds his hand out for Arthur's pencil. Arthur looks at the pen hanging out of Eames' teeth but hands it over anyway.

Eames writes, 'Have dinner with me." He hesitates over a question mark under the pretense of puzzling over the pretense of an equation, but in the end Eames flips the notebook around and passes it to Arthur.

"Excellent. Thank you for your assistance," Arthur says.

"My pleasure," Eames says. Eames might be enjoying this a bit more than he's supposed to be. He watches Arthur walk away and doesn't care if he is.

Arthur turns on his heels. "My pencil, Mr Eames?"

Eames holds it out and doesn't let go when Arthur pulls.

It's weird, the power he feels when he's the one causing the dimples.

-

They meet at the hotel restaurant for convenience's sake. Eames, straight from the warehouse, calls up to Arthur's room from the lobby and watches the clock tick closer to the 10:30 mark. He mills around the desk until Arthur emerges from the elevator. There's a low thrum in his stomach as Arthur spots him and closes the distance. Eames waits with his elbow perched on the high counter, then they silently cross the wide, marble expanse to the restaurant.

As they're seated, Eames begins to think that perhaps he's made some kind of monumental mistake. The environment, the intensely date-like atmosphere of the restaurant, the low light, it only adds to the pressure of an already loaded situation. For lack of a better term.

Or maybe that's just Eames. Arthur seems fine, steady and relaxed across the table from him. He swirls the ice at the bottom of his water glass and tilts his head back to let two cubes slide into his mouth. He crunches them between his teeth.

"How was your tail?" Eames asks.

Arthur laughs. "Fine. Great. Nothing we can't go over tomorrow."

Eames nods. He unfolds his napkin and places it on his lap, then tosses it back on the table.

"There was something you wanted to talk about?" Arthur prompts. "You can ask me."

"Ask you what?" Eames says.

"How long it's been since I last had sex. If it's always going to be like this. That kind of thing. I mean assuming you want to continue sleeping with me."

"Okay - I do, by the way. I would very much like to continue sleeping with you." Eames meets Arthur's eyes across the table. On that point he would like to be very clear. Arthur smiles down at the table and Eames thinks, _There_ he is. Before he can talk himself out of it, Eames reaches for him, puts a hand on his cheek and runs his thumb over his mouth. Arthur strains forward to indulge him with a swift kiss, then a sweeter, lengthier one. Arthur kisses beautifully. "You're a good kisser."

Arthur laughs at him. "Oh, god," he says, " _You're a good kisser_? Really?"

"What?"

"It's just. We're having a conversation about how I come in under a minute. It would. It would go better for me if both of us didn't sound like we were fourteen."

"Ah, I see your point. You are, though. For the record."

"Thank you."

"So when was the last time you had sex, then?"

Their waiter chooses that moment to make himself known. Arthur says, "Nine, no ten days. Excluding you, of course," before he turns to focus his full attention on the specials.

It's been longer for Eames, a month and a half, give or take a week. No, two months. Two months and a week. It's not important.

The waiter turns to Eames and Eames keeps his eyes on Arthur's. He idly wonders who it was Arthur was sleeping with ten days ago, two days before meeting up, and struggles to not let idle wonder grow to desperate.

"And for you?" the server asks.

"Same," Eames says, "I'll have the same."

"Also with the-?"

Eames interrupts, he hopes not unkindly, "Yes, with the-" He sprinkles imaginary ground nuts over whatever dish Arthur's ordered. Eames hasn't the slightest.

"Excellent, I'll be right back with your bottle of wine."  
Eames wishes they hadn't gone in for the table service. He'd really like to ask some specific questions about ten days ago, but he'd rather not have that particular discussion interrupted.

He goes for it anyway. "And how did that go?"

"The sex? It was fine. Nice." Arthur is very nearly stoic in his seat. It's common, comforting even, but Eames can't get a read on whether it's an act or not. If it's an act, it's a very well executed one.

"Nice?"

"You mean did I embarrass myself?" Arthur asks.

"I never said that, Arthur. I never even implied."

"It is surprisingly easy to rile you up." Arthur grins. "How you've managed to hide it until now is a complete mystery."

Eames plucks at the corner of his crumpled napkin and feels the way Arthur watches him.

"Okay, here," Arthur says. He puts his knife and spoon in the center of the table, maybe two feet apart. "Let's say there's a scale." Arthur traces an invisible line joining his utensils. "The spoon, you feel nothing, the knife you feel too much, right? On any given day I generally land about here, sexually speaking." Arthur moves the glass jarred candle from the center of the table right up to the edge of the knife. Eames swallows.

"If I concentrate, or think about something else, or somehow disengage, I can wind up here." Arthur pulls the candle back, not significantly, about halfway between the knife and the middle of the scale.

It's nothing Eames wasn't able to put together on his own, but seeing it laid out is almost intoxicating. He drags his pointer finger down the dull serrated edge of Arthur's knife and wonders why they're wasting time with mundane practices like eating meals when they could be upstairs, together.

Arthur goes on. "And with you, it feels like I wind up-"

The server, having snuck up quietly, plops their bottle of wine at the edge of the table, well beyond the confined limit of the knife. Arthur sets the now useless candle back down and says, "Yeah, right about there."

The waiter pops the cork.

"Thank you, I've got the rest," Eames tells the waiter, rather smugly.

Alone again, Arthur says, "You don't have to look so proud of yourself. You're carrying around a lot of ego as it is."

"I've no idea what you're talking about," Eames says as wine sloshes messily into Arthur's glass.

"What I mean is, it's not _just_ you, but that it _is_ isn't exactly helping. And the thing that makes it worse," Arthur continues, "is that I've thought about being with you for a very long time."

Arthur is very frank. Eames is finding it unbelievably hard not to peel his clothes off right here, right now. Eames leans back in his chair and breathes out.

"It'll get easier with time." Arthur says. "Historically, it's the only thing that really works for me."

"Are you diminishing your affection for me by implying that your affection for me will diminish eventually."

"Will that make you less cocky?"

"No, not really, still feeling pretty proud of myself."

"Okay, then let's just say the, uh, urgency of my affection will diminish. But, um, it could always be kind of a problem."

"Arthur, Arthur, I am willing to put in the time." Eames leans in conspiratorially. "And just in case it had escaped your notice, I don't mind the urgency. I rather like it."

Arthur matches his posture and tucks himself close. "I kind of picked up on that, yeah."

If it's possible for a meal to be both unbelievably pleasant and seemingly interminable, this is that meal. Arthur drinks his wine and eats his dinner with impeccable manners, manners his own mother would probably adore. There is, however, the matter of the wicked glances Arthur keeps shooting Eames, and the coy corner of his mouth that keeps turning upwards. The sly manner in which Arthur has insinuated his feet between Eames'. By the time they've paid and made their way to the elevator Eames feels somewhat helpless. He doesn't even try to keep his hands to himself.

The sleek doors slide closed and Eames pulls Arthur in. "I can. Do you want me to go slow? I can go so slow. Whatever you want."

Arthur leans back so Eames can get at any part of his throat that he might like. "I don't think that will be necessary."

Eames nudges Arthur back against the elevator wall with two fingers to the chest, then looks pointedly at the obvious bulge in his thin trousers. "No?"

"Nope."

Eames fingers go to Arthur's waistband and slip behind his belt to reel him back in. "And why is that?"

Arthur must find it hard to talk when he has his mouth all over Eames' neck because it takes a little while for him to answer. He's too busy sucking and kissing and scraping his teeth over the line of his jaw.

"I had some time before dinner," he says eventually. "I got ready for you."

Eames goes entirely still. "How ready?"

"Pretty ready."

"Oh, Arthur. Arthur Arthur Arthur, you are making it very difficult for me to be the one in control."

Arthur kisses him soundly. "Then don't be. Anyway, we're here."

Arthur is right. Eames has no idea how long the elevator doors have been standing open to his floor. He has no idea how they make it to his room. Or the bed. But they do.

Taking off Arthur's pants is the singular best part of Eames' day, and it's been a pretty great day.

Arthur flops back on the bed and spreads his legs wide and watches Eames shuck his shirt. Eames can see where he's wet and his mouth goes dry.

Eames crawls up on the bed, on Arthur, and cages Arthur's head between his elbows. "Did you come? Getting yourself all wet and open for me did you come?"

Arthur says, "Yes," and Eames nearly groans into his mouth he's kissing him so fast.

Eames fishes for Arthur's leg and hooks his hand under his knee before pulling away from Arthur's mouth. He crouches between Arthur's legs and kneads at his thigh while he pushes two fingers in, quick but careful. He goes in easy, but Arthur feels tight around him.

He gets another finger in and Arthur squeezes around him. "Good?" Eames asks. "Need more lube?"

"Yeah, no, I'm good. Like this is good." Arthur sounds breathless, a little choked and mostly desperate.

Luckily, Eames pants are half on the bed, half off, so he doesn't have to go far to dig through the pockets for a condom. Finding it is much easier than putting it on, his fingers are shaking and Arthur is on his back, watching, just barely trembling. He's distracting as hell like this and he must know it. He grins like he knows it, anyway.

"Come here. Fuck me," Arthur says, and Eames does.

He pushes in slow, but he doesn't stop until he's buried deep inside.

"Doing alright there, Arthur?" Eames checks in from up close.

Arthur rocks his hips up, and god, god, it is hard to keep still. "I'm great," Arthur says, strained, "how about you?” Arthur takes a deep breath. “Eames, it's okay, I'm okay. You don't have to be so careful."

"Mmm, hold your legs for me, darling."

Eames fucks into him slowly and builds up steam. "You feel so good, Arthur," Eames says and Arthur moans sweetly in response.

He hasn't touched Arthur, but he looks down as he's sliding in again, and the underside of his cock looks so inviting, velvety and flushed dark red and wet at the tip, drips slipping down to his stomach to shine there.

Arthur seems to know exactly where Eames' thought process is headed. "If you," Arthur swallows and the bob in his throat is amazingly delicate. "I'll come," he says simply, even if he follows it up with a full body tremble.

Eames wants him to.

Eames wraps his hand around him and Arthur cries out almost instantly. He gets in only a handful of strokes before Arthur's orgasm crests and he shoots all over his stomach and up as far as his chest. Eames wrings every last drop from him and hangs on until Arthur shakes with it.

There's come in his hand when he touches Arthur's face. It gets in Arthur's hair, on his cheek, the corner of his mouth where Eames hooks his thumb. Arthur sucks and Eames slams into him.

"I'll get hard again," Arthur says, voice rawer than Eames has ever heard it, almost pleading. "I will."

Eames puts both hands on Arthur's chest and forces himself to slow down. "I know you will, baby," he says as he tries to calm himself down by degrees. "Do you need a minute? Do you need me to stop?"

"No," Arthur says, and Eames drops his head and groans, swiveling his hips. "Don't stop. You feel so good."

"Next time, I'm going to finger you open, darling, and I'm going to make you wait for me. Do you think you can wait for me?"

"I can try," Arthur says, and cants his hips up. Eames sinks deeper on this thrust and Arthur bears his throat to groan out as Eames drags his cock out again.

"Oh, fuck," Eames says and angles for the same place.

"But I don't," Arthur says, "I don't want to think about something else. I don't want to feel anything else."

"You're killing me," is the only thing Eames can get out.

"I know it's selfish," Arthur says, groans, whispers, "I can't help it."

"Arthur," Eames says, then again.

He's got his hand closed around Arthur's spent cock and he doesn't know how it happened, just that Arthur has tears leaking out of his eyes. He clenches tightly around Eames in shaky little spasms. Eames has to exert every last ounce of self control not to come on the spot.

The tremors don't subside, but Arthur tells him "Don't stop. It hurts, it feels so good." so Eames doesn't.

It takes a while for Arthur to get hard again, and by that point, there's so much sweat mixed with come on his stomach that the two are indiscernible. Eames thinks about how it will look when Arthur messes himself up again and fucks into him harder, telling him exactly what he's thinking in filthy, bit out whispers.

Arthur pleads and clenches around him and Eames doesn’t think he can hold out much longer. But he tries. Arthur’s hard in his hand, and twitchy, and Eames wants him to come first. He wants to know they can do it, both of them.

“Come for me again,” Eames says, and Arthur looks spent and so gorgeous beneath him, like he’s mostly just sensation now. He whines and strains and thin spurts of come thread Eames fingers while Arthur arches up. He squeezes weekly around Eames and Eames follows him down. He stops breathing entirely and comes in Arthur harder than he’s come in recent memory. Maybe ever.

-

Eames wakes up to the absence of Arthur. It's not unexpected and it's not personal, Arthur generally shows up to work far earlier than he does. Which is not to say that Arthur works any harder, only that he works differently.

Eames rolls on his back and breathes in the faded smell of sex.

The problem, Eames thinks, is that when confronted with Arthur's desperation, Eames reaction thus far has been to counter it with his own. This in turn garners further desperation from Arthur and a vicious cycle is created, an ever growing sense of impatient urgency that appears to be delightfully, recklessly unending.

Logically, then, the only solution is to stop the cycle.

Eames begins to formulate a plan. He flops his hand around, patting the bed for the lube. When he comes up with nothing, he remembers that they hadn't needed it because of Arthur's clever preparedness. Eames chokes on his breath and thinks his plan will work out infinitely well because look at that, he's already getting hard.

He digs the lube out of the night stand and settles back into the lush, sex scented sheets. When he wraps his wet hand around himself, he is blissfully assured of his own genius.

-

The problem, Eames revises, is that he grossly overestimated his ability to quell his own desperation.

There's a thin red scratch on the back of Arthur's neck and Eames can't keep from staring at it. He thinks maybe he put it there. The job is far enough out that this kind of distraction isn't dangerous, but Eames still thanks his lucky stars that this is a relatively easy extraction.

That the job is fairly run of the mill works out nicely because Eames can't seem to turn off the part of his brain that knows the way Arthur fucks. He looks at that thin red scratch and is helpless to do anything but let it all flood in.

Passing behind Arthur's desk, Eames puts his thumb on the scratch. "You have something," Eames says, "just here."

Arthur puts his hand to his neck, like maybe he doesn't know, but when his fingers push Eames' thumb away, Arthur cranes his head to look at him.

"Subtle," he says, before turning back to his laptop and getting lost in the research there.

It's not that it's hard for Eames to reconcile this calm, professional Arthur with the one he gets to see when it's just the two of them, it's that it's much easier than Eames expected. He sees Arthur in the warehouse, confident and intelligent and self assured, and he doesn't even have to close his eyes to see Arthur pliant and needy beneath him, stripped of any self consciousness.

Eames volunteers to get lunch. Eames _never_ volunteers to get lunch. He is not the get lunch sort. Until today.

Instead of heading straight to the Thai place on Third that against all odds every last member of the team loves, Eames tells the driver the address of his hotel. Once inside the room he heads straight for the bathroom and undoes his trousers just enough to get a hand around himself and jerk off dry. It's rough and Eames groans at the way his calluses feel, sharp but not entirely unpleasant.

And then there's nothing but the way his hand fits around his cock and the way his sounds fill up the tiny, echo-y room and the way he's shocked by his own consuming need to get off. It takes no work at all to remember exactly how Arthur sounds when he says Eames' name on an exhale, or the way his eyelashes get damp and his cheeks get as red as his dick. His thoughts push him close, so close.

When he comes the slide gets easier, and he keeps his fist tight and stokes himself long past the point of comfort, just so he can feel what Arthur feels. Long enough that he curls in on himself and can't stop the way it feels like he might cry or lose his footing.

When he's done he feels kind of fucked up and still a little turned on, but he puts himself to rights and the overwhelming edge of it has faded.

He gets back to the warehouse about an hour and a half after he left, but no one seems to notice. Maybe Arthur looks at him like he knows all his secrets, but Eames is oddly okay with this new development.

-

They share a cab to the hotel.

"Hungry?" Eames asks.

"Not particularly," Arthur answers. "I had a late lunch."

"I'd say that's convenient. We can call up for room service later."

"I don't remember that we had plans, Mr. Eames. That seems awfully presumptuous." Arthur says, but then he takes Eames' hand in his and plays with his fingers.

"My plans, Arthur. You've no idea."

Arthur raises his eyebrow. "I have a little bit of an idea."

-

Eames is kind of a heartless bastard.

He kisses Arthur, pulls him on top of him and kisses him slowly and sweetly. He won't let Arthur deepen it, despite his persistence. Despite the way Eames really _likes_ his persistence.

When Arthur gets frustrated and angles his hips into Eames, Eames rolls the two of them on their sides and holds himself apart. He closes his eyes and puts a hand on Arthur's neck, fingering over the scratch he has yet to forget, and kisses him again.

"You're not making this any easier on me," Arthur says.

"I'm not trying to make it easier," Eames says between kisses. "Don't pretend you don't like a challenge."

Arthur doesn't answer, just reaches for Eames again. Arthur curls in like he's dying to touch and Eames gives up on holding out. He likes it much too much when Arthur wants him like this. He wants to reside there for as long as Arthur will let him.

Arthur pushes at his hips and makes him roll back. He folds over and pushes Eames shirt up to plant wet kisses at his stomach, rubbing at Eames through the thick fabric of his trousers. Eames breathes, pleased that he had the forethought to take the edge off. A couple of times.

Eames uses the opportunity to run his hand up Arthur's back, then circle around to pinch at his hip. Arthur shivers slightly, just enough that Eames can feel it only because he's touching him. He loves how sensitive Arthur is.

"You should lose the shirt," Arthur says, and he pushes his fingers through the hair below Eames' belly button, licking between his index finger and thumb.

Eames is happy to oblige. He goes a step further and ditches his trousers, too, he's just that eager to please.

When he's naked, the sharp contrast with a fully clothed Arthur is terribly apparent. Eames pushes his hands away when Arthur goes for his top button. "I'll take care of it," Eames says. He almost wishes he hadn't let Arthur take off his tie.

He pushes Arthur on to his back and holds him down by the shoulders because Arthur has responded well to that on prior occasions. Tonight, Arthur doesn't disappoint.

"This time," Eames says, "I get to come first. Deal?"

Arthur looks up at him and nods. "Okay."

"What if you fucked me? Would that be better?"

Arthur laughs. "I think," Arthur says, "I think we should probably work up to that."

Eames smiles down at him, closed mouthed. "Fair enough."

He steals a quick kiss before retreating to unbutton Arthur's trousers. He stops there and leaves the zipper untouched. He rucks the fabric up at Arthur's thighs, rubbing his thumbs in tight massaging circles. Arthur's pants are slim, but there's just enough give for them to crease and bunch. Eames watches Arthur's cock twitch beneath his clothes and drags his eyes to his face. Arthur licks his lips and raises his eyebrows expectantly.

"Is it easier like this, or on your knees?" Eames asks. "Or you could be little spoon. I'd like holding onto you from behind, I think. Pushing your leg up so I can get in?" Eames circles the bones of Arthur's ankle and works his way down to the soft arch of his foot. "Shall we consider the desk?"

Arthur tilts his head back, laughing breathlessly, just this side of slightly hysterical. Eames scoots up and starts at his buttons. "Whatever you want, Arthur," he says before kissing lightly at his newly exposed collar bones.

"Like this," Arthur says. "You can." Arthur shudders as Eames hands skim over his nipples. "I - when you hold me down it's easier. Oh, oh god." Arthur squirms and Eames is barely touching him. Eames may have no trouble at all coming first, actually.

Eames smacks at the part of Arthur's arse he can reach, so, his hip more like, and says, "Lift up for me." He unzips Arthur's pants with his hips raised in the air, then slides everything off at once. Arthur kicks them off the rest of the way and sits up to struggle with his shirt where it's rolled up at the sleeves. Eames thinks he could watch Arthur get caught up getting undressed every day of his life and never tire of it. He's so wonderfully flustered.

Eames pushes him back down when he's free and keeps his fingertips at his chest while he pops the top of the lube.

Working Arthur open is an exercise in restraint. Eames tries so hard to be careful, to avoid Arthur's prostate. But Arthur pushes down against his fingers like it's all he wants and Eames is helpless to deny him. He retreats quickly to add more lube and he hears it when Arthur's breath catches at the sudden lack.

He pushes two fingers in, and because he's a bit of a prick, he sucks wet kisses to Arthur's inner thighs, his knees, the base of his thick cock.

Unsurprisingly, Arthur arches his spine and gasps. But just because it wasn't a surprise, it doesn't make it any less hot.

"Hold on for me Arthur, hold on," he says, because Arthur's shaking with it now, and oh god, Eames wants him to. Eames wants him to come all over himself with two fingers buried in him, but he wants Arthur to wait more.

He puts a hand on Arthur's stomach and anchors him to the bed. Arthur struggles to slow his breath and he reaches to squeeze his cock at the base. "I can't, I can't."

"You can," Eames says. "Fuck, you’re so pretty like this."

"Oh, god, stop talking, I'm gonna." Arthur trails off, but he doesn't come. His fingers are red around his leaking cock and as he releases his grip they go a little white.

Eames concentrates on matching his breathing to Arthur's. He pets him, slow and calming, but otherwise he's still.

Arthur reaches between his legs to grasp Eames wrist and pull. "That's enough. That's really, really enough."

Eames makes a humming sound, unconvinced.

"No, I know. But it's good. If it hurts a little, I can. It's okay, it's easier if it hurts a little." There's a tiny crease between Arthur's eyebrows. He must read Eames' reluctance because he goes on. "I like it," Arthur says, "trust me."

Eames nods. "Right."

Arthur rubs at Eames arms then up to his neck. "Trust me," he says again. He pulls Eames with him when he goes back down, kissing at his cheeks, his chin, finally his mouth. He wraps his legs around Eames and squeezes. "How long are you gonna make me wait?" he asks.

"Long as I want, right?" Eames says and Arthur closes his eyes. It's light enough that Eames can see the purply veins in Arthur's eyelids.

"Ready for me, then?" Eames asks.

"Yeah," Arthur says.

Eames guides himself in and Arthur squeezes his eyes shut again.

"Okay?" Eames asks.

"Yes, _yes_."

Arthur's so fucking tight that Eames is short of breath. Eames groans and quickly thrusts in, then again.

Arthur's fingers press into his back, then go to his skull and push into his hair and hold tight, loosen and grasp again, in time with Eames' pace.

"Yeah," Arthur says, "like that."

"You're doing so good, Arthur, so good." He mindlessly throws a few more 'so goods' on the tail of the first couple, just to focus on something that isn't how good Arthur feels around him. When his higher brain function comes back, Eames may reflect on the irony of that, but probably not.

"No," Arthur gasps, "I'm really, really not. I want to-"

"Not yet," Eames says, and shifts Arthur's legs up to pound into him harder.

"Fuck, fuck, can I? Can I please?" Arthur pleads, "Please?"

Eames forces himself to slow down. He ducks in and licks at Arthur's bottom lip. "No."

Arthur very nearly sobs.

"Try for me, Arthur. Just a bit more."

Arthur nods against the pillow, sweat at his temples and at his chest, pulse pounding in the dip between his collar bones. His teeth sink into his bottom lip and Eames can't think.

Arthur's hands flutter towards his cock, then away. Eames gathers them at the wrist and holds them above his head, probably a little too hard, but Arthur just nods and says, "Yeah, fuck."

When Arthur whines, his throat sounds scratched raw and hoarse and still the very best sound Eames has heard.

"Want to come, Arthur?" Eames asks.

Arthur nods, then shakes his head. "No. Keep fucking me. Please keep fucking me." And Arthur pushes his hips up, up, up.

Eames gets in a thrust then another, then Arthur's untouched cock pulses out thick ribbons of come as he cries out, voice high and reedy.

Eames pulls out to another cry and tosses the condom god knows where. He jacks himself once, twice, and comes all over Arthur, painting his stomach and chest.

Arthur looks at himself dazedly and smears a hand through the mess.

"Sorry," he says, "I couldn't..."

Eames can't necessarily breathe, but he can press down and kiss Arthur silly.

"That was," Eames doesn't even know, "That was. Jesus Christ."

He presses his forehead into Arthur's for a minute, just until at least one of them remembers how to breathe.

Eames rolls over and tucks Arthur close. He pulls Arthur's wrists to his mouth and places feathery kisses against the knobby bones. "Sorry," he says, "Sorry if I held on too tight."

Arthur shakes his head. "Sorry I couldn't hold on."

Eames shrugs with the only shoulder that's free. "We we're pretty neck and neck, I thought." He hauls Arthur in tighter. "Sorry I can't move." The tip of nose drifts down Arthur's check, then over the tip of Arthur's. He's not sorry at all.

"We can try again," Arthur says, eyes closed, stuttering breath against Eames mouth. "It'll be better next time."

"I can't imagine that it could be any better, darling, but we can try again whenever you like."

"You're not even a little disappointed?"

"No," Eames says, "no. Are you?"

"No."

Eames pulls at Arthur's sweaty hair and angles up for a kiss. "Feel like letting me lean against you in the shower?"

"Uhuh," Arthur says, "in a minute."

Eames shuts his eyes.


End file.
